


The Sleep of Reason

by Azzandra



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Gen, General Eridan douchebaggery, Hivebent, LOWAA, Land of Wrath and Angels, Mindscrew, SGRUB, Sadstuck, kink meme fill, pesterlogs, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LOWAA is strange, and not a good place for anyone to be left alone with their thoughts. Eridan learns this soon enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Riddling

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I was going to post this in bigger chunks, but I can see that formatting these pesterlogs is going to be a special kind of hell. I'm pretty sure this chapter took longer to edit than it took to write.

_"What would you say if I said a vengeful boy on a path of nihilism was taken under the wings of fearsome angels, and learned to destroy hope with their light?"_

*

The brush of feathery wings against each other sounds like whispering. The angels sit coiled around the gleaming spires and stare down at you with their blank reptilian gazes, but they don't say anything as you walk down the street. This land shines bright and merciless. It's unnerving.

You round the same building twice before you realize you're lost. You recognize the archway, because you cracked it in half a while ago, when you were trying to finish a different quest. You need high ground to get your bearings.

You go into a nearby cathedral. The light shines through colorless stained glass windows, creeping along the pitch black floor and illuminating nothing. The walls are barren, carrying only sad empty sconces, _empty like your quadrants_ , and you heave a sigh. It resonates too loudly in the high ceiling, and something moves up there. You catch glimpse of stark white, and you hear the ruffling of feathers, but it's only a few moments' stirring.

You find a staircase, spiraling up into darkness and you take it. The air is dusty and smells too strangely sweet, but it's a reprieve from the constant demonic glimmer of your planet. The stairs are slabs of gray concrete, veined with little cracks. You wonder if anybody has ever used them before. You're pretty sure the angels don't use stairs, since they can fly. And also lack feet.

Halfway up, you are trolled by someone. For a moment you consider not answering, but the flailing emotionally needy part of you succumbs much too easily when you see who it is.

**arachnidsGrip** [AG] **began trolling caligulasAquarium** [CA]  

AG: Hey, fish8reath, how's it going?  
CA: shut up vvris  
AG: You're lost again, aren't you? XXXXD  
CA: yeah laugh your ass off this is hilarious  
CA: evvery fuckin buildin here looks exactly the same  
CA: an theyre all shinin hurtin my eyes somethin stupid  
CA: wwho evven designed this place  
AG: All I'm hearing is a bunch of whining!  
CA: yeah easy for you to say miss map in the sky  
CA: youre a fuckin cheater  
AG: That's right! >::::D  
AG: And that's why I win aaaaaaaall the games!  
CA: if you only trolled me to gloat about howw youre an unprincipled bag a grubshit you can glub off  
AG: Geeeeeeeez, you're a cranky one!  
AG: 8ut fine, I guess I can help you out just this once. You know, just 8ecause you're so slow on the upt8ke!  
CA: fan fuckin tastic  
AG: Are you going to listen or just 8itch a8out my generous offer until I change my mind?  
CA: fine lay it on me  
AG: Ask one of your consorts for dir8ctions.  
CA: the fuck is that supposed to mean  
AG: You know, one of those critters who live on your planet.  
AG: They're not very smart, 8ut they're there to help you. Take advantage of that!  
CA: wwhat you wwant me ta talk wwith one a those demon things  
CA: no wway  
AG: Oh come on, you 8ig gru8, are you just going to 8um8le around helplessly, or are you going to finish your stupid quests and give me a challenge?  
CA: wwell if its a challenge you wwant  
AG: Eeeeeeeew, no, I definitely didn't mean it like that!  
AG: Forget I even trolled you.

**arachnidsGrip** [AG] **ceased trolling caligulasAquarium** [CA]

She signs off quickly, but you already have proof that she never got over you, no matter how much she denies it. It must be hard for her to talk to you while plagued by bittersweet inky longing, but you're not going to be the one who crawls back to her. You're going to bide your time and wait for her to resume this relationship. You're going to play it _smart_ , not like your other quadrants.

You don't have time to dwell on the nuclear downfall of your romantic pursuits, however, because you've reached the end of the stairs. You open the door, and white light spills in, but you squint your eyes and soldier on. You step out into a bell tower, but the solid wooden beam by which a bell should be hanging is empty, save for an angel lounging on it.

The angel is lying on its belly, wings folded close, watching you with its beady black eyes. It doesn't react in any other way as you step into the bell tower and closer to the banister. If you didn't see the end of its tail flicking lazily, you could almost pretend it was a statue.

You scan the horizon, trying to figure out your position. You see your hive in the distance, and you use it as a point of reference as you plot your course. The quest you're trying to complete requires you to find a sort of city square with a fountain. You can see it from the bell tower, just barely, between the corners of two structures, and you try to figure out which streets you should take to get there quickest. You capture the image with your glasses and mark the directions with a shaky purple line. It will serve.

You turn around, ready to leave, and almost topple over the edge, because the angel has _moved_ without you hearing a thing, and now it's brought its head really close to yours, getting in your space and staring at you.

“What the fuck--” You grab onto the banister with both hands as you lean back. You are also developing a sudden and completely rational fear of heights.

**the king is coming the king is coming we have seen all is wrath there will be nothing left but terrible terrible wrath it has been seen we have seen there will be nothing nothing will be left in his wake**

The angel's voice is like the chiming of broken bells, dull and devoid of musicality; it hammers right through your head and vibrates down your spine. The words make no sense, and you have no time to parse whatever thread of logic they follow. You duck out of the way and make for the door.

You run down the stairs and stumble into the cathedral, knees shaking and lungs too tight after such a short sprint.

*

You don't understand this land, nor how wrath has anything to do with it. Unless it is the wrath of having to double back twice before realizing you were on the right path the right time because the streets make _no fucking sense_ is the one being represented.

This whole place is stupid. Everything is either gleaming metal or dark matte stone. The angels gibber nonsense. The quests mostly involve clever puzzlework, which is a pain when you're much more in the mood to blow shit up. You blow shit up anyway, because fuck it. Fuck it is the reason why.

You reach the fountain, at long last. It's a hideous baroque thing, the statues representing a clusterfuck of writhing angels with their horrible maws open in horror. You find it upsetting, even if you can't stand the creatures. You've certainly never seen the real things with anything resembling a facial expression before.

The spouts are dry, but there is still water in the fountain, clean and clear. On the bottom of the pool, silver coins catch the light. You're supposed to find just the right one, according to the quest, and if you pick up the wrong one something horrible is said to happen. You received a riddle to help you find the right coin, but you couldn't make heads nor tails of it (ha ha). Hopefully now that you're actually here the answer will become apparent on its own.

You step into the water, and it barely even ripples. You start scanning the bottom of the pool, taking in the design of each coin. Some are ornate, so densely carved, you can barely tell what they're supposed to represent, and some are simple, with only a number indented on their surface. You flip a few over with the tip of your shoe, but they're all double-sided, so you needn't have bothered.

You try to recall the riddle, but your mind brings up only a few words you snagged on. And even if you knew what you were looking for, this is still just annoying busywork. You could try to troll someone for help, but the best person at figuring out this stuff is Vriska, and you kind of... don't want to go there. Her renewed rejection still stings, even if you know she's only delaying your inevitable and undoubtedly torrid reconciliation.

You decide to try Aradia instead. She knows a thing or two about riddles. Apparently desecrating ancient tombs makes a troll really good with this wordy shit.

**caligulasAquarium** [CA] **began trolling apocalypseArisen** [AA]

CA: guess wwhat rustblood youre in luck  
CA: i am givving you the opportunity to servve your betters  
AA: wh0 are y0u talking ab0ut?  
CA: me obvviously  
AA: im s0rry but it was n0t that 0bvi0us actually  
CA: wwell wwhat reason wwould I have to contact you otherwwise  
AA: id rather n0t speculate  
AA: tell me what y0u want fr0m me  
CA: i got this stupid riddle an i need you to figure it out for me  
AA: why?  
CA: its for a quest  
AA: why w0uld i help y0u?  
CA: cause  
AA: ?  
CA: cause youre good wwith this kinda shit  
CA: help a felloww team member here  
CA: come on i dont wwant to havve to ask vvris for help AA: 0kay  
AA: just this 0nce if y0u pr0mise n0t t0 b0ther me again  
CA: thanks youre a doll  
CA: not like i wwas going to bother you about anythin else anywway  
CA: i aint into any a that robot shit  
CA: i couldnt stand the chafin  
AA: ...  
AA: just tell me the riddle  
CA: alright, let me think a second  
AA: eridan  
AA: are y0u still there?  
CA: yeah i just cant remember it exactly  
AA: y0u want me t0 tell y0u the answer t0 a riddle y0u cant even remember  
CA: glub  
CA: i think it wwas something about hiccups an clocks  
CA: an also there wwas somethin about a squeakbeast  
AA: a squeakbeast  
CA: almost definitely  
CA: actually maybe it wwasnt about hiccups I think it might havve been trees  
AA: i see h0w the tw0 can be easily c0nfused  
CA: i knoww  
AA: eridan  
AA: d0nt c0ntact me again  


**apocalypseArisen** [AA] **has ceased trolling caligulasAquarium** [CA]

You growl at the rustblood's nerve. You stomp your foot, splashing water, and then, in a final tantrum, you grab a handful of coins from the bottom of the pool and fling it across the square. The coins clink cheerfully against the black stone, bouncing off and rolling away. The angels on the buildings around the square give off shrieks and fly away in a flurry.

Everything goes unnaturally quiet, and the rasp of your breath is too loud; it echoes.

There's a groan—it's the closest description you can find for the sound that you feel more than hear. Something is moving behind you.

You stumble out of the fountain, tripping over the edge and falling. That awful statue of the angels is moving, the stone bodies writhing a bit too much like a horroterror for comfort. It doesn't turn to flesh, exactly, just a teeming stone mass moving together as one towards him.

You take out Ahab's Crosshairs and crank it up to its highest setting. The beam that results engulfs the monstrosity completely, but you know it doesn't die right away because—oh god—it's screaming now, the noise reverberating through the ground and shaking you down to the bones. Your finger presses down on the trigger so hard it aches, and the awful pained shrieking turns into a death howl and then ceases. You keep firing long after it stops.

What remains is a pile of charred rocks, smelling of rot and sweetness. The fountain is no longer there, and of the water, only a puddle remains, and a few darkened coins.

You steady yourself, slow your breath, but you don't put away your rifle. You merely stand there for a very long time, because you're _startled_ , not scared. You just committed architectural annihilation on a grotesque ambulatory statue. This is something you should be proud of, and not something that should make you lament that you can no longer troll Feferi and talk about it.

And technically you did finish the quest. So. On to the next one. Preferably one that requires killing a lot of things.


	2. Melodious

This quest was a very, very bad idea. You shouldn't have skipped ahead! These kind of tactics are for landdwelling scum like Vriska, you should have acted like the proper seadwelling exemplar you are and done them in proper order.

Your knees hurt because you've been crouching in a tight opening between two buildings for well over half an hour and there is just no legroom in here, but at least it's relatively safe. An ogre is roaming up and down the street, waiting to make fish bait out of you. It can't see very well, and as long as you stick to the shadows, it won't find you, but it's not going away, and it's much too strong for you to take head-on. You need to make a strategic retreat.

You're only left with one course of action, so when the ogre lumbers past your hiding spot once again and continues on, you bolt towards the building right across the street, where you can see a door. As soon as you're inside, you twist the key in the lock—once, twice, three times—and you don't even pause to ask yourself why the door has a key or if it would even withstand an ogre's fist.

You slump against the door, basking in your victory, admittedly small though it may be. You are currently in a hallway with faded tapestries. They're frayed at the edges and the colors have washed out to grays and browns, but you can just barely make out scenes here or there, mostly of a dark winged figure brandishing a sword. A few others are landscapes, and one is too faded to appear as more than grimy white and gray forms. There is one you recognize as a horrorterror, but what it brings to mind is the writhing angel statue, and you walk quickly past it.

The hallway is suddenly too tight. You recognize the sweet and dusty smell that all buildings on your planet have, and you can't stand how it dries out the roof of your mouth and irritates your nostrils. The hallway does not have windows, so much as narrow vertical slits in the stone, so small you couldn't even fit your hand through them if you tried. They only let in diffuse beige light, just barely enough to see by.

You reach the end of a hallway and step into an antechamber with a vaulted ceiling. It's different from the dingy hallway, but there's still a faint whiff of decay emanating from the threadbare red rug under your feet. At one end of the antechamber are closed double doors made of lacquered black wood, possibly leading outside. At the other end, another set of double doors, this one white.

You head for the white doors. As you approach, you start hearing a hum, which then resolves itself into a melody. There is music coming from beyond the doors. You press your ear to them, and the soothing vibrations make your fins tingle.

Slowly, you push down one of the gilded handles and crack open the door, peering in. All you can see through the narrow opening is light, but the music washes over you, confusingly warm. You can't tell if it's produced by voices or by instruments at first, but it's a serene, easy tune, as steady as the sound of surf.

You peer into the room, the center of which is taken up by a dais with a fancy urn on it. It's white with swirling blue patterns on it, and it occurs to you that you have stumbled upon another quest, so you might as well check it out, since the last one was such a bust. But as you push the door open and step through, you finally see the source of the music.

The room is an amphitheater, and the stands are filled with angels. There is no ceiling, and their heads are turned upward, towards the white patch of sky as they sing, their pseudo-avian maws open and their green tongues rippling like snakes. There are hundreds and hundreds, packed tightly together in every row, in every seat. They pay you no attention as you step among them, but you no longer find the music soothing. It feels like a violation instead, like alien fingers probing just beneath your skin.

You consider turning around and taking your chances with the ogre, but you are not a coward; a prince should not lose his poise at the first mildly unsettling instance. You go on ahead, towards the urn; the dais is set up on the amphitheater's stage. You will grab it and then leave. That is all. It's simple. Just walk over there, take it, and make a dignified exit.

And it's easy, until you reach the dais. The angels make no move to stop you—indeed, do not so much as take notice of you—but the moment you reach for the urn, just as your fingers brush against the cold porcelain surface, the music _stops_.

You hear the rustle of a thousand heads turning towards you, and you feel each and every pair of black eyes peering into the back of your head. You freeze, and for a long moment nothing happens.

You turn your head slowly. The angels stare at you, but you can't tell if they're going to attack you or...

You're not sure what happens next, exactly. Your arm twitches (it _does not_ shake) and you hit the back of your hand against the urn by accident. It topples and shatters into dust, and there is an ungodly sound as all the angels screech at once and take wing. You have time only to glub and fall to the floor against the dais, huddling underneath your cape.

It is utter and complete pandemonium as they all try to fly away when there isn't room enough, and they screech and claw at each other like condemned trying to escape hell. They have no mercy on each other, silvery blood and clumps of feathers falling to the ground. The weaker angels, or the less fortunate, fall against the ground around you with crunching sounds, their wings twisted and their tails bent at unnatural angles, and then get back up, streaked with silver, and launch themselves back into the fray.

It lasts a long time; too long. You stop watching, hiding your face in your arms and trying not to listen, and you think it might never end, but it does at some point. It's only after the final screeches of departing angels have long since faded into the distance that you dare look up again.

The entire amphitheater is strewn with the broken bodies of angels, their silvery blood splattering everything, even your cape. When you shake it, however, the silver droplets slide off like beads of mercury.

You pull the cape closer around your shoulders, but it doesn't bring you as much comfort as you'd like. You need to leave, and to do that, you step over the feathery bodies carefully, your shoes making disgusting squelching sounds at every step. You're halfway out the door when you accidentally kick against one of the fallen angels.

It convulses and grabs your leg. Its neck is bent as if broken, but it still turns its head towards you—turns its black eyes on you ( _stop looking at me, stop looking at me_ , you're too afraid to say) and coughs wetly before it begins to speak in uneven, hacking fits,

**the kiNg is comIng he is cOminG for us aLl he is wRath iNcarnaTe thEre shalL be Only deAth in hiS Wake the aBdicatioN of hoPe the wicKed King the loRd of deStructiOn**

“Let me go, let go,” you scream and use your other leg to kick the creature in the face, but it doesn't work, it keeps talking, rambling on about a king and death like it didn't even feel it, and maybe it didn't; this thing isn't a real person, it isn't even an animal, it is a demon, a monster to be killed.

You take out Ahab's Crosshairs and have just enough wits about you to turn it to a lower setting so you don't melt off your own leg, but you turn the rifle on the angel and shoot. The beam washes over the angel and it screams, just screams, releasing you. You stop shooting when it does, but you also notice that your rifle has left not a scratch on the angel.

You jump back and turn the power up immediately, and as the angel begins its crazed ramblings again ( **theRe sHall be nO merCY thERe shALl bE No QuaRTeR giVEn** ), you shoot and keep shooting.

It takes a full minute to kill the thing, and you know because you can feel every single second of its wailing. You count them on the beads of sweat running down your back and the pain of your fingers clenched so tightly on your rifle that your rings dig painfully into flesh.

In the end, there is nothing left but a black stain and a sickly-sweet scent in the air, like someone set fire to a potpourri bowl and doused it with perfume. You double over and retch a few times, but you haven't eaten in a while, and all that happens is that your stomach clenches and hurts.


	3. Solitude

You are jarred awake by spots of brightness flashing through your eyelids. Your glasses fall off, but you manage to grab them before they start plummeting towards the ground. With your other hand, you grab onto a piece of masonry before you _yourself_ start plummeting.

Falling asleep on a ledge between two ugly gargoyles was not your brightest idea, you'll admit, but it hadn't been intentional. You only wanted to get your bearings, but the reflective roofs confused you, so you decided to wait until the light changed. Your land doesn't have anything resembling night, but occasionally, there is a dimness to the air, like a cloud passing over a moon.

You climb back onto the sill of the window through which you reached this ledge in the first place and put your glasses back on. Your eyes are still blurry with sleep, and your mind is fuzzy from fatigue. You want to go back to sleep, but...

CG: HEY BULGEMUNCH, WAKE UP

Karkat had contacted you while you slept, and the irritable lines of text were what woke you up.

You swing your legs like a wriggler sitting in a too-high chair, and your heels hit against stone, sending dull jolts of pain up your legs.

CA: wwhat is it kar  
CG: YOU MISSED THE MANDATORY MEMO.  
CA: oh thats all  
CG: WHAT DO YOU MEAN, OH THAT'S ALL? DO I NEED TO COME OVER THERE AND EXPLAIN THE MEANING OF “MANDATORY” TO YOU?  
CG: IS THAT IT? SHOULD I FIND A LEXICAL EXPLICATION VOLUME, HOP OVER TO YOUR GODAWFUL PUSTULE OF A PLANET AND HIT YOU OVER THE HEAD WITH IT UNTIL YOU UNDERSTAND THE MEANING OF THE WORD?  
CA: if you wwant to come ovver i wwont mind  
CA: i could teach you a feww things  
CA: i bet wwed havve fun  
CG: FORGET ABOUT IT.  
CG: SOME OF US HAVE ACTUAL PRODUCTIVE THINGS TO DO AND CAN'T AFFORD TO GO TRAIPSING OFF LIKE PAN-DEFECTIVE IDIOTS IN SEARCH OF SUB-INTELLIGENT ASSFUCKS WHO CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO DO SO MUCH AS OPEN A CHAT CLIENT AND READ A FEW FUCKING LINES.  
CG: YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, DOUCHEFIN.

He signs off. You're too numb with sleep to really take offense at it, so you just take off the glasses and rub your eyes. There's a migraine building right around the ridge of your eyebrow, and you rub circles on your temples. Feferi used to do this for you, just a short time ago.

You put your hands down. You'd rather have the migraine.

*

Somewhere along your tedious trek through your land, you pass through a courtyard. The walls are massive, chalky and ugly, extending from the sides of a dull squarish building like monstrous arms. Angels are sitting on top of the walls, clustered together in twos and sometimes threes like featherbeasts in the cold season, with their feathers puffed out, their heads close together and their tails coiled tenderly around each other. They look at you with half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly.

You look away from them, and a light shines right into your eyes, momentarily blinding you. You curse and bring a hand up to your face, and through your fingers you see its source. It comes from the glass of a circular window at the second level of the building, as it reflects off a nearby tin roof. It's the middle window of three, and it's open for some reason.

The window swings in the wind, bouncing against the frame, back and forth. Something shifts in the darkness beyond it, something gray, and as you stand there and try to puzzle out what it could be, the window swings open once again, wider than before, and a gray blur shoots out. The window closes with a thump so loud you can hear it from where you're standing, and you flinch.

Was that a hand?

You reel yourself back in before you start giving yourself false hope, but you're sure you saw something move, you're sure you saw _someone_.

You bring up Trollian, and then immediately minimize it again. You take out your rifle and heft it, feeling its weight and considering this carefully.

If someone is here, why didn't they troll you to say they were coming? Why wouldn't they drop you a line, just as a heads-up? And what would they even be doing around here on their own?

Was it Vriska, come to plunder your lands? Was it Karkat, having changed his mind? Was it Sollux, here to taunt you? It couldn't be Feferi.

It wouldn't be Feferi.

You're going there to see for yourself, but it won't be Fef. She's not here, she hasn't come to apologize and reconcile, she isn't hiding in some godforsaken cranny trying to build up courage, _I'm sorry, Eridan, I want to try again, I pity you..._

It isn't Fef, it isn't.

Your heart beats faster, but that's only because you're running now, no other reason. You run towards the wooden doors of the building and kick them open, and they give way easily, for all that they are massive.

The interior is coated with a heavy layer of dust; you've stirred heavy clouds of it which make your gills itch, and you sneeze and cough. You cover the lower half of your face with your scarf.

There is nothing ominous about the building's interior. It's only quiet and sad, a faint patina of decay clinging to every surface. The entrance is a large circular room, with two doors on either side and a spiral staircase in the opposite end. The floor has an old battered mosaic, representing a windrose, but each of its cardinal points has a quadrant symbol: south is heart, north is spade, east is clubs and west is diamond. It's an odd distribution, with the concupiscent and conciliatory quadrants opposite each other, instead of alongside. It's wrong.

You step over it and onto the spiral staircase, which is made of black wood, but bleached with age. Each single step squeaks loudly in the empty air, as if the building itself is protesting your presence. You reach the second story and enter a hallway that might have once been a portrait gallery. There are frames on the wall, but their canvases are empty save for muddled gray. Some look water-damaged, but most just look dusty or moth-eaten.

You reach a junction in the hallway and it takes you a moment to figure out which way you should go, but you go left. The hallway here has doors on one side and windows on the other. The doors have no door knobs, and knocking on them produces only a dull sound, as if the surface beyond them is completely solid. The windows are so thick with dust that nothing can be seen beyond them. When you wipe off one with the corner of your cape, only a black surface is revealed, and you can't tell if something is covering them from the other side, or if there simply isn't anything there.

You still have Ahab's Crosshairs out, and you clutch the weapon a little bit closer, but you feel out of your depth, as if nothing bad that could happen to you in this place could be warded off by shooting it.

You walk quicker down the hall, down many different halls, until the endless convoluted corridors end and you step into a greenhouse.

You're startled, because the room is cluttered with potted plants and the sudden verdancy is jarring compared to the sad decrepitude you've seen to far. The glass roof is the cleanest you've seen so far, and the center is taken up by a gnarled tree, sprouting directly from concrete. It's thick enough that you probably couldn't put your arms around it, and its leaves are as large as your hands, but its upper half is hunched, as if politely refusing to grow through the glass roof.

There is a peace in this room that washes right through you, but you still move on, uninterested in anything else than finding ~~Fef~~ the interloper. You go around the tree and through a small arched doorway, and soon you're walking down dark and cramped corridors, taking odd twists.

The corridor is more like a tunnel than a hallway, and you start getting pangs of claustrophobia, especially when you need to store away your rifle because it no longer fits, and by the time you reach the end of it, you're panting and shaking.

You end up in an attic, empty save for three circular windows with ratty curtains.

There's nobody here.

That doesn't mean anything, though, so you approach the middle window. You push aside the rotting curtain and unlatch it, cracking it open. You immediately feel a draft through the narrow opening, and the window start moving back and forth as it is caught in it. The curtain billows in your face weakly, but the wind picks up suddenly, and the window opens outward completely. The gray curtain flies out for a split second before the window snaps shut with a sound loud enough to rattle you.

You sit transfixed, staring at the ratty gray curtain in disbelief.

You very slowly take a few steps back, aim Ahab's Crosshairs and blast the entire wall clean off. Nothing is left of the window, or the curtain, or very much of the floor. You have a clear view of the courtyard, and the angels perched on the walls. They huddle closer together and don't even look at you.

You blow up the side of a building and they _didn't even notice_ , so you turn your rifle on them next, and level the walls.

They fly off in panicked zigzags, each one in a different direction, each alone.


	4. Grounded

You come across an odd sight in the alleyway between an elegant cathedral with sharp spires and an off-white building with blacked-out windows: three angels are fighting.

Actually, that would be incorrect. Two angels have ganged up on a smaller, gray-ish one and are apparently trying to commit murder by feather plucking. They've cornered it and keep sniping at it, hissing between angry prophesying. The smaller angel snaps its beak at them, but it doesn't fight back in any meaningful sense of the word, and when it tries to slither away, the other two block its path.

It's a fascinating sight. You'd only seen them turn against each other once, in the amphitheater, but that had been an impersonal kind of violence, borne of desperation and panic. This is slow, cruel and deliberate. You can't imagine what reason they could have. Entertainment, perhaps?

You inch only a bit closer and all three angels turn their heads towards you, before the two larger shriek and take flight.

Did you scare them? You don't really care, though, so you walk on, and put the encounter completely out of your mind until later.

Until you realize you are being followed. You might have not even noticed, except for something moving in the corner of your eye. You turn your head a little too slowly to get a proper look at your stalker, but you sort of suspect who it might be. You steadfastedly ignore it, but you take out your rifle. Just in case.

You continue on your trek pretending not to hear the click of talons against pavement just ten steps behind you, or the occasional scurrying up buildings, or the alarmed squawks when you turn around and it backpeddles and hides behind the corner. After a while, it even becomes fun to startle it, especially since you still have no idea why it's following you.

Unfortunately, the playful antics distract you from the real game, and you find yourself lost again. It frustrates you, because the area looks naggingly familiar, and you could swear you've been through here a thousand times already, but you can't quite pinpoint your exact position on you mental map, and you stop at an intersection, trying to decide which one of the six possible routes would cause you to get the least more lost than you already are. The fact that you even had to _think_ that last grammatically dubious sentence proves how dire your situation is.

It's really the first time you seriously consider a piece of advice Vriska gave you. It certainly can't hurt, can it?

“Hey, you.”

The angel pokes its head around a corner and tilts it to the side in question. _Me?_

“Yeah, you. Come ovver here,” you say, waving your hand.

The angel slides out and approaches in what is probably caution. It keeps its stumpy wings folded close and its neck stretched out comically, and good god, this thing is goofy, why were you ever concerned about it turning on you? It comes just up to your knee, and it moves jerkily, using its tail as a snake might, but also its arms to drag itself.

It turns its head to you and honest to god _chirps_. Its dark eyes aren't blank and passionless pits of darkness, like other angels', instead just empty, devoid of sapient reasoning. It was like one of Fef's Cuddlefish: a parodic take on a real animal, turned pitiable by its harmlessness.

“You knoww anythin' about this part a the land?” you ask.

The angel stares. Its eyes are slightly further apart than reasonable, making it seem like it is looking in two different directions at once. Oh yes, this was a _brilliant_ idea.

You wonder who is the bigger idiot, Vriska for her useless advice, or you for actually following it? What the hell made you think she was smarter than you, when she's the only troll you know who's managed to make a bigger disaster of her quadrants than you have?

“Do you knoww wwhich wway is that big buildin' wwith the creepy murals?” you continue, just so you can say you tried. “I'm pretty sure that's wwhere I should be goin'. This soundin' familiar? Big round buildin', painted all black an' silver on the outside?”

The angel chirps and bobs its head up and down, but you have no idea what this is supposed to mean. You can't tell if it's trying to talk in code or if it's having some kind of seizure.

Then the angel turns around and slithers away down one of the six streets. For a moment, you think that it's running away from you, but it turns its head and squawks, and you're pretty much sure it wants you to follow it. Having nothing to lose, you do.

There's a moment of shock as the building inches its way into your field of vision. The bizarre construction looks like an unholy mix between a coliseum and a temple, and you've passed it several times going from one quest to another. The murals, done in black and silver, had always jumped out at you, partly because they're done in an awful splattery style that insults your aesthetic sensibilities, and partly because you've never been able to figure out what they are meant to represent. All you can pick out is a dark figure, and beams of light, and the muddled shapes of angels, but if they're meant to portray scenes, they're not doing it very well.

You didn't expect the little defective angel to actually be helpful, though, or to actually understand what you asked it about. It's a strange feeling to have things turn out in your favor for once. You're not quite sure you can handle it.

The angel goes up to the door and starts scratching at it.

“Yeah, yeah, that's it, good job,” you say. “Noww get out a the wway.”

You shove it aside as gently as possible, and it placidly lets itself be pushed. You open the doors with a rusty screech, and leave them open. The inside is a mess of loose black floor tiles and tattered off-white curtains. The walls are brown, peeling off in layers and there is a thick smell of mold and dust in the air.

You go through to the next room, which is much the same, except larger, and then into the next and—this one is much, _much_ larger. It's circular and the ceiling is so high, it's a bit nauseating. It feels like that first moment after breaking the surface of the water and looking up, when the sky is too big and you feel tiny and exposed.

You keep your gaze to the floor and breathe slowly, trying to stop your fins from fluttering in distress. You should be _better_ than this.

Finally, you survey the chamber properly. You can't see the other end very well because of the curtains hanging from the ceiling here and there, but the little angel comes up behind you and slithers on ahead, chirping excitedly. You follow, if only because you have no better idea, and if there are any traps, at least the creature will trigger them for you.

As it reached the other end though, it grabs a particularly large curtain and pulls, tugging it loose from its fixture. It flutters to the ground and over the angel, and the consort lets out an alarmed squawk which makes you laugh. But you notice now that the curtain had been obscuring something rather large: at least twice your height and covered by a tarp.

Curiosity gets the better of you and you pull the tarp off.

It's a statue. Not a particularly well-carved one, but it makes you take a step back, because it's...

You're tempted to say it's of Fef, but it isn't, not really. It's of a woman, somewhat, and she has fins and long flowing hair, but she doesn't remotely resemble Feferi in any other way. She's more like a water spirit than a troll, her dress adorned with seashells and fossils. You've seen similar works before, in history books and old art treatise.

The woman's face looks unfinished, lacking any features except the bump of a nose, the suggestion of lips and the smooth ridges above where her eyes would be. Instead, all the details are in her dress, and her hands—one hand is clenched around a nautilus and the other is reaching upward, in a gesture like a blessing—and now you seriously wonder, what had even made you think it was Fef in the first place?

You sit down heavily on the ground, rifle across your lap, and think. You think hard, even though your thoughts go around in confusing circles, and then you pull up Trollian and scan the list of online contacts.

**caligulasAquarium [CA]** **has began trolling grimAuxiliatrix** [GA]

CA: kan  
CA: hey  
CA: are you busy right noww  
GA: Yes I Am Somewhat Preoccupied  
CA: so not that busy then  
GA: That Is Not At All What I Said  
CA: its just that im havvin a crisis right noww and i need someones advvice  
GA: So You Have Decided To Contact Me  
CA: yeah wwell kars not online so  
GA: So I Should Be Flattered That I Am Your Second Choice  
CA: nah youre my third choice but since fef an i broke up i cant exactly go to her wwith this  
GA: So You Are Finally Coming To Terms With Your Break Up  
GA: Good  
GA: That Is Very Good  
GA: That Is The Proper Course Of Things  
CA: still hung up on vvris i see  
GA: You See Absolutely Nothing  
GA: And Even If You Did See Something You Would Be The Last Person Who Should Talk  
CA: i aint hung up on vvris shes hung up on me  
GA: Of Course  
CA: im serious  
GA: I Am Sure You Are  
GA: Now What Was It That You Wanted To Ask My Advice On  
CA: kan i dont think im made to be wwithout a moirail  
GA: ...  
GA: I Do Not For The Life Of Me Know Why I Thought This Would Be About Anything Else  
CA: no its not like that  
CA: its like  
CA: im pretty sure im losing my mind wwithout her  
GA: You Are Being Melodramatic As Usual  
CA: no kan listen  
CA: shes constantly on my mind  
CA: its like i cant take a step on this cod dam piece a shit planet wwithout seain somefin that reminds me a her  
GA: That Is Not Unusual After Losing A Quadrantmate  
CA: no i dont think its just regular heartbreak  
CA: or diamondbreak  
CA: i think maybe my planet is porpoisefully messin wwith my head  
GA: Eridan For The Last Time The Universe Is Not Persecuting You  
GA: There Is No Vast Conspiracy Against You And Acting As If There Is Will Only Make You More Miserable Than You Already Are  
GA: You Are Sabotaging Your Own Happiness  
CA: kan its not that i dont appreciate the seantiment  
GA: Oh No  
GA: No No No This Is Not A Feelings Jam  
CA: but im pretty sure i could tell if i was makin myself sea fins  
GA: Actually By Definition You Couldnt Because That Would Mean You Are Delusional  
CA: so you think im delugenal  
GA: Only In Your Romantic Endeavors  
GA: Theres Nothing Wrong With You Eridan  
GA: You Will Get Over Feferi One Day You Need Only Be Patient  
GA: Now If Youll Excuse Me There Is A Frog Nearby That Needs Catching

**grimAuxiliatrix** [GA] **ceased trolling caligulasAquarium** [CA]

CA: kan wwait  
CA: glub

You let out a frustrated whine, but she's already offline, chasing her stupid frogs. Right now you think you'd prefer frogs to angels.

You jump to your feet when you see where your annoying little companion has has gotten to. The angel has climbed the statue of the water spirit, and wound itself around her outstretched arm, gnawing at her flowing locks.

“Hey, get dowwn,” you hiss at it.

The angel pauses for a moment, but continues clacking its beak against the stone, looking like a wriggler trying to fit a too-big piece of candy into its mouth. You are not endeared to this image.

“I said get the fuck dowwn!” you yell, jumping up and swatting at the angel's tail.

It squawks at you, and you brandish your rifle. The angel remains unimpressed however. You grit your teeth and take aim, shooting just over the angel's head. You don't even touch it, because it was barely a warning shot, but it panics and starts shrieking and flapping its wings like you set it on fire.

It thrashes so violently, that the arm of the statue breaks off, and the angel tumbles to the ground with it.

“Look at wwhat you did noww, you glubbin' idiot,” you yell at the angel and this time take aim properly at it.

It tries to slither away, but you manage to shoot it right in the face. It skrees, high and grating, and flops to the ground when the beam tapers off.

Half its face is melted when you're done, scorched black around an empty eye socket. Its beak hangs open, too malformed to close properly. The angel coils on the ground, whimpering and chittering pathetically.

“Servves you right,” you mutter and turn around, stomping away. The echoes of your steps are almost loud enough to block the pained sounds you leave behind.


	5. Doublethink

Your hands are shaking when you bring up Trollian again. You're glad you don't need them to type.  
  
CA: kar please talk to me  
CG: WHAT IS IT THIS YOU GODDAMN DRAMA QUEEN.  
CA: i think i mighta done somethin vvery bad  
CG: HAVE YOU BEEN NAGGING FEFERI AGAIN?  
CA: no this isnt about her  
CA: god kar not evverythin is about fef  
CA: this is about me  
CG: ALRIGHT, SO WHAT IS IT?  
CA: i just had this awwful thought  
CA: wwhat if im an unpitiable person  
CA: and im nevver gonna fill my red quadrants  
CG: YOU'RE GIVING YOURSELF TOO MUCH CREDIT, AMPORA.  
CG: MAYBE WHAT YOU SHOULD BE ASKING YOURSELF IS, WHAT IF YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO FILL *ANY* OF YOUR QUADRANTS.  
CA: wwhat  
CG: I MEAN, MY GOD, ERIDAN. YOU OF ALL PEOPLE MUST REALIZE WHAT A SHITTY PERSONALITY YOU HAVE. WHAT IF YOU'LL ALWAYS BE JUST A BIT TOO OBNOXIOUS TO PITY AND JUST TOO PATHETIC TO HATE?   
CA: kar i dont understand wwhy youre talkin like this  
CA: i need your help not wwhatevver this is  
CA: did i catch you at a bad time or somethin  
CG: YOU'RE RIGHT. YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT.   
CG: I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO.  
CG: YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN.  
  
You choke back a sob. The shaking in your hands is only getting worse, and you put away Ahab's Crosshairs before you accidentally blow off your legs. You take off your glasses, and the world around you blurs. This is stupid.  
  
You put your glasses back on and retrace your step back to the building you've just run away from. You're sort of surprised you managed to find your way without getting lost again, but as you approach, you begin to feel something akin to trepidation. You feel compelled to go back in and face what you've done, but you don't actually  _want_  to.  
  
You don't need to go back in, however, because just outside the door you see the little angel again, but only as a lump on the ground. You don't approach.  
  
Three other angels are around the little one's corpse. They tear open its neck and sink their claws in, and when they draw them out silver, they fly up to the building walls and start painting. They've started another mural.  
  
You manage to swallow back the bile rising to your throat and you turn around, taking slow, measured steps. You can feel the angels' eyes on the back of your neck, and you are certain that if you start running, they will chase. So instead you walk, one foot in front of the other, putting distance between you and the creatures until you feel safe rounding a corner further down the street.  
  
You huddle in an alley that smells of seaweed and honey and bring up Trollian again.caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]  
  
CA: fef  
CA: listen I knoww this is a bit awwkwward  
CA: wwoww that wword looks awwful wwritten like that  
CA: awwkwward  
CA: its actually a bit funny heh heh  
CA: but this isnt about that  
CA: fef  
CA: i knoww i wwas a bit of a handful and not a vvery good moirail  
CA: but if you givve me another chance i promise evverythin is gonna be different  
CA: you can forget wwhat i said about wwantin you in my red quadrant  
CA: i got my priorities all straight noww  
CA: i knoww i got it in me to be the BEST moirail  
CA: i mean i wwasnt so bad the first time around i helped you feed your lusus didnt i  
CA: evven if it wwent against my plans  
CA: i managed to put my agenda aside an be there for you  
CA: evven if you didnt appreciate it  
CA: wwhat im sayin is that i knoww noww that you needed breathin room  
CA: and i can givve that to you  
CA: i knoww I havve to tone dowwn my feelins a bit an i promise i will nevver bother you wwith anyfin evver again unless its reely important  
CA: but this is reely important right noww  
CA: fef  
CA: please I need you  
CA: <>   
CC: heheh oh my god thii2 ii2 eiither tragiic or hiilariiou2.  
CC: iim leaniing twoward2 hiilariiou2.  
CA: wwhat the fuck  
CA: wwheres fef you lispin fiend  
CC: 2he2 riight here wiith me.  
CC: hold on.  
  
 **cuttlefishCuller**  [CC]  **ceased trolling caligulasAquarium**  [CA]  
  
 **twinArmageddons**  [TA]  **began trolling caligulasAquarium** [CA]  
  
TA: 2he2 bu2y wiith a que2t riight now, 2o 2he a2ked me two keep an eye on trollian for her, but don't worry iim keepiing an eye on her, two.  
CA: get the fuck awway from her thats not your job  
TA: what, you thiink it2 your2?  
CA: goddamn right its mine  
TA: no, ed, that2 ju2t it.  
TA: not only ii2 iit not your job anymore, but even when iit wa2 you were crap at iit.  
CA: shut the fuck up i was a great moirail  
TA: no you werent 2hiit-for-2ponge.  
TA: and thii2 log ii2 all the proof tz would need to fiind you guiilty of pale iineptiitude iin the 2econd degree.  
CA: wwhat are you talkin about  
TA: ju2t look.  
TA: you pretend youre 2orry about how thiing2 turned out, but really youre ju2t doiing iit becau2e you want 2omethiing from her.  
TA: youre every biit a2 needy and 2elfcentered a2 ff 2aiid you were.  
TA: and youre al2o the 2hiitiie2t moiiraiil.  
TA: iit ii2 you.  
CA: shut up shut up SHUT UP  
CA: i did good by fef CA: i helped her wwith evveryfin she needed  
TA: you fed her lu2u2 you mean.  
CA: YES  
TA: and what el2e?  
CA: plenty else  
TA: no, nothiing el2e.  
TA: you 2pent the re2t of the tiime makiing your 2hitty plan2 and go22iipiing wiith kk.  
TA: you never took anythiing 2he 2aid 2eriou2ly and you never cared about her feeliing2.  
TA: everythiing was about you, and that2 exactly why 2he couldnt 2tand beiing your moiiraiil.  
TA: becau2e youre a 2hiity per2on.  
TA: the fact that you wanted her iin your red quadrant wa2 ju2t the iiciing on the nau2ea-induciing, offen2iively decorated 2ugary confectiion that ii2 eriidan ampora.  
CA: you knoww wwhat im not going to listen to some lowwblooded freak  
CA: wwho only wwants to wweasel his wway into fefs quadrants by slander an lies  
TA: are you kiidiing me? thii2 ii2 all 2tuff ff told me her2elf.  
CA: SHUT UP  
CA: YOU DONT KNOWW FEF  
CA: you dont knoww wwhat shes thinkin  
TA: yeah ii do, dude, becau2e ii actually lii2ten two her.  
TA: try two keep up.  
CA: no  
CA: youre despicable and im not going to let you come betwween us  
CA: youvve made an enemy today sol  
CA: just remember that  
TA: yeah iim pii22iing my2elf iin fear riight now.  
TA: ooh noo, what wiill ii do, fiishboy ii2 angry wiith me.  
TA: what iif he BIITCHE2 at me 2ome more!  
  
 **caligulasAquarium**   [CA]   **ceased trolling twinArmageddons**  [TA]  
  
You want to throw your glasses against the opposite wall with as much force as you can muster.  
  
You don't. Instead, you cradle Ahab's Crosshairs in your lap and think of clotting pools of yellow blood at your feet, and Feferi kneeling before you, crying. She wouldn't be crying for the lowblood scum, she would be crying for  _you_ , because she failed you and she's sorry.

****

****

****

****

****

 


	6. Descent

There is a bridge between where you are and where you need to be. That's the good news.   
  
The bad news is that the bridge is missing the part that makes it useful as a bridge in the first place. The walky-thing. Whatever it's called. The bit you walk over.  
  
You're left with two very imposing rows of arched columns framing a black void instead. You wonder, briefly, if the bridge had ever been whole and functional, or if someone had purposely chosen to build it useless. You suspect the latter, and you feel a bit of that wrath your land is named for.  
  
There's probably a quest or a puzzle or a mechanism by which the bridge can be activated, or something, but you don't have the patience for this. Angels are watching you from surrounding edifices, and you feel as though they are silently judging you. You want nothing less than to kill them all and throw their corpses into the deep crevice until you fill it up, make a bridge of the demonic things. There's an idea.  
  
You only abandon this line of thought because you don't think you could kill enough of their numbers to do it in a timely fashion. You're tempted to try anyway.  
  
Instead, you walk along the lip of the crevice. It's jagged, made of broken pavement, except where it's black asphalt dripping over the edge, or the corner of a building sticking out. It looks like a broken seam in the planet, or like earthquake damage. You can't see too far along its length because it wends softly between buildings, but you can hear the faint sound of water from the bottom, echoing against the cavernous walls. Sometimes you see a glimmer or hear a splash, and you're convinced there's something like a creek at the bottom. Probably fresh water, because you can't smell salt, and probably quite shallow—not something you'd jump in, at any rate. Not unless you wanted to break your legs.  
  
You don't find another bridge, but you do come across a spot where the crevice is shallower and you can see the narrow trickle of water at the bottom. It's narrower than your forearm, and perfectly clear as it runs over black, perfectly smooth rocks.  
  
It's still too high to jump, but you're still trying to figure something out when you're jarred out of your reverie.  
  
 **carcinoGeneticist** [CG] **began trolling caligulasAquarium**  [CA]  
  
CG: ERIDAN, HOW ARE YOU DOING ON YOUR QUESTS?  
CA: oh wwhat so noww you care  
CG: LOOK, THIS ISN'T THE TIME FOR BITCHING BECAUSE PEOPLE AREN'T GIVING YOU ENOUGH ATTENTION.  
CG: I JUST WANT A CLEAR ANSWER. HOW FAR ALONG ARE YOU?  
CA: im doin fine  
CG: CAN YOU GO INTO DETAILS? HOW HIGH UP THE ECHELADDER ARE WE TALKING? DO YOU NEED ANY HELP?  
CA: not from you i dont   
CA: i remember the kinda help you givve  
CG: OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.  
CG: DO YOU WANT ME TO GROVEL NOW? ALL I CAN SAY IS I'M SORRY. I'VE BEEN BUSY AND, QUITE FRANKLY, UNDER A LOT OF PRESSURE WHAT WITH, OH, YOU KNOW, * PLANNING FUCKING REGISURP * AND TRYING TO CORRAL A BUNCH OF WHINY SELF-CENTERED ASSHOLES INTO A SEMI-COMPETENT FIGHTING FORCE.  
CG: SORRY I'VE BEEN IGNORING YOU.  
CA: quite frankly I woulda preferred you ignored me  
CG: OKAY, YOU LOST ME. WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN YOUR GILLS IN A TWIST?  
CA: you havve  
CG: WHAT. WHY? WHAT DID I DO?  
CA: wwhat so noww youre gonna pretend you dont fuckin knoww  
CA: well im not gonna forgivve you that easily for what you said  
CG: ERIDAN.  
CG: WHAT. THE FUCK. *DID I SAY*. YOU INSUFFERABLE PONCE.  
CA: im not gonna repeat it  
CA: but you hurt my feelins a lot kar  
CA: i mean if you didnt wwant to talk earlier i wwoulda understood  
CA: but you didnt havve to be so mean  
CA: i thought wwe wwere friends  
CA: but i guess i wwas wwrong  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GIBBERING ABOUT?  
CG: I HAVEN'T TALKED TO YOU SINCE THE LAST TIME YOU CONTACTED ME TO WHINE ABOUT FEFERI.  
CA: no you trolled me a couple a times since then  
CG: UH, NO I HAVEN'T. EITHER YOU'RE DELUSIONAL OR YOU'RE CONFUSING ME WITH SOMEONE ELSE.  
CG: NOW, I'M ASSUMING, IN SPITE OF WHAT THIS CONVERSATION INDICATES, THAT YOU AREN'T A COMPLETE PAN-SHATTERED LUNATIC, WHICH MEANS YOU SERIOUSLY CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME AND ONE OF THE OTHER ASSHOLES WE KNOW.  
CG: IN WHICH CASE, WOW, I AM ACTUALLY PRETTY FUCKING OFFENDED RIGHT NOW. EVEN BARRING THE FACT THAT I'M YOUR LEADER AND YOU SHOULD HOLD MY EVERY WORD IN HOLY DEFERENCE, YOU'VE ALSO KNOWN ME FOR SWEEPS.  
CG: THOUGH APPARENTLY NOT VERY WELL.  
CA: kar this isnt becomin of you to lie like this  
CG: OH, I'M THE ONE WHO'S LYING, THAT'S RICH.  
CG: FINE, PROVE ME WRONG, NOOKWIPE.  
CG: SEND ME THE LOGS OF THESE ALLEGED TROLLINGS.  
  
You are already looking for them before Karkat even suggests it. You just can't find them. You click through all the logs you had since the game started, and when you couldn't find them there, you even poke through the pre-game logs for a bit, increasingly panicked. Karkat loses his patience quickly.  
  
CG: WELL?  
CG: I'M STILL WAITING.  
CG: ERIDAN, STILL THERE?  
CA: i cant find it right noww but its there somewwhere  
CG: I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE YOU. YOU WERE JUST TRYING TO START SHIT OVER NOTHING BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE WAS PAYING YOU ANY ATTENTION, WEREN'T YOU?  
CA: shut up i havve proof  
CA: i just cant find it  
CG: OH FUCK YOU, AMPORA. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS, BUT YOU NEED TO GET IT FUCKING SORTED.   
CG: JUST FINISH YOUR QUESTS SO WE CAN GET ON WITH IT.  
CG: NEXT TIME I TROLL YOU YOU'D BETTER HAVE YOUR SPONGECASE SCREWED ON PROPERLY.  
  
 **carcinoGeneticist**  [CG]  **ceased trolling caligulasAquarium**  [CA]

You stare at the gray words, half-afraid they might melt away before your very eyes.  
  
You missed the logs, that's all. You didn't look carefully enough. You sign off Trollian and, with one shaky hand, readjust your glasses.   
  
As chance would have it, you are staring in the direction of an obelisk, and as Trollian disappears from before your eyes, you can see it jutting into the air just on the lip of the chasm. An idea occurs to you, and you push away the unsettling thoughts clogging your mind to concentrate on something you can actually fix.  
  
The obelisk is perfectly chalky white, and decorated with geometric patterns so intricate, they make your head hurt if you stare at them too long. It's fairly thick, and most importantly, its height is greater than the crevice's width.  
  
You circle the obelisk a few times, but if there's any sort of expertise required in what you're about to do, you don't have it, so you decide to get on with it. You prime Ahab's Crosshairs and take a few steps back from the monument.  
  
You shoot just alongside the obelisk, barely scratching its base. Where the beam from your rifle touched the stone, it is black and it smells like a tar fire. You gag a bit. The obelisk still stands tall, though, so you aim again, and this time take out at least half of the base. The obelisk still does not fall, much to your confusion.   
  
You step closer and press your hand against the stone. It's warm to the touch, but it doesn't budge.  
  
“Come on, you glubbin' piece a shit,” you sneer and kick at the frustrating piece of architecture.   
  
There's a rumble, and the obelisk finally falls off its base and across the crevice, its tip falling against the opposite edge. You have emerged out of this conundrum triumphant!  
  
It looks fairly sturdy, and the obelisk is wide enough that you don't feel like you're baiting death as you walk across it, but you still go as slowly and as carefully as you can. It's only when you're halfway to the other side that you run into slight hitch.  
  
An angel flies overhead. It circles around your head like a scavengerbeast circling a dying lusus, and screeches twice as loud. You don't like this one bit, so you take out Ahab's Crosshairs. The first angel is joined by another, and then one more. This is getting genuinely distressing, but you don't panic outright until another one of the demonic spawn lands in front of you on the obelisk, blocking your path.  
  
“Get the fuck away,” you spit out through gritted teeth.  
  
The angel doesn't, it just lowers its head and clicks in the back of its throat.  
  
 **the king shall walk upon the spoiling corpses of his subjects to claim his crown they shall suffer shortly and die many when he comes to crown himself with their destruction**  
  
You're not sure where to aim your rifle, at the lone angel before you, or at the dozen or so now circling overhead. You look over your shoulder to see the way back is also blocked, by three angels standing at the obelisk's base, glowering at you.  
  
You look down—there aren't any angels there—and you're overtaken by a sudden bout of vertigo.  
  
You squeeze the trigger. Possibly you were aiming at an angel, at any angel at all, but you realize belatedly the nuzzle was aimed downward. You raise the rifle too late. The white beam blasts through the obelisk and as you feel the solid stone beneath your feet crumble, you know, for a split second, how it would feel to fly.

********

********

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like an appropriate place to mention that there is an easy way to distinguish between which logs are with real trolls and which aren't.


	7. Despair

You wake up.  
  
You wake up in your respiteblock, except not really.  
  
Everything around you is purple, a bright purple too much unlike your blood color for you to find it pleasant.  
  
You jump to your feet with a start, and circle the room nervously. You remember angels, and falling. You're not sure which one of those sends stabs of terror through you, but you decide to stop thinking about it.  
  
You go to the window, and regard the purple spires, so much like the spires of your own land that you can't help but snort contemptuously. And then you hear it; the giggling. You can see a figure dashing across the sky in flight, and the long flowing curls are unmistakeable.  
  
“...Fef?”  
  
Before you can step out, the bright purple walls around you melt.  
  
For the second time, you wake up.  
  
This time you are greeted by pain and cold.  
  
You can feel the water lapping against your legs, freezing your skin and numbing the aches. It takes a few more seconds for you to get your bearings, though. You are on your back, staring at a white patch of sky framed by black walls of humid earth. Everything hurts at least a little bit, but the fall wasn't high enough to break anything.  
  
Everything is blurry, and you fear for a moment that your glasses didn't survive the fall with you, but you find them after a perfunctory grope around, half-embedded in the soft mud.  
  
You pull them out with a squelch and try wiping them off on your sleeve, but all you manage to do is spread the mud to both lenses. You finally just dunk the glasses in the nearby water and let it wash them off. They're wet and cold when you put them on again, and even if they fog up a bit, you can still see better. You find your rifle as well, pulling it out of the creek.  
  
Chunks of white stone pepper the ground around you, and against one of the walls of the crevice there is the top third of the obelisk, pinning an unfortunate angel to the ground. The creature doesn't struggle; the stone covers its upper body, both its wings and one of its arms, so all it can do is lay its head on the soft ground and try to catch wheezing, shallow breaths as its lungs are crushed. It turns a baleful black eye to you, but even with its beak open, it doesn't say anything. You keep to the other side of the creek, just in case it suddenly decides to spout off nonsense.  
  
You turn on the glasses, just to check if the electronics survived the fall and the subsequent dunk you gave them in the creek. The screen flickers uncertainly for a moment, but it settles into full functionality soon enough.  
  
TA: 2o kk thiink2 youre a loon now.  
TA: niice of hiim two catch up two the re2t of the 2choolfeediing group.  
TA: better late than never ii 2uppo2e.  
  
You growl, the vibrations making the text shake on the screen.

CA: its none a your business wwhat anyone thinks a me  
TA: nope, iit2 all your2.  
CA: exactly  
TA: and iif you want two 2how everybody what a 2hiity friiend you are ii 2hould let you.  
CA: shut up im not a shitty friend YOU are  
CA: you go around stealin peoples moirails an spreadin slander  
TA: relax, ed, iim on your 2ide.  
CA: …  
CA: wwhat  
TA: yeah.  
CA: wwhat are you glubbin about  


TA: well, iit2 obviiou2 to me that youre bent on driiviing everyone you hate or piity away.  
TA: 2o iim giiviing you a nudge in the riight diirectiion.  
CA: wwhat did you do you gutterblood scum  
TA: oh, liike ii needed two do much at all.  
TA: you did mo2t of the work.  
CA: you  
CA: youre the reason i couldnt find the logs  
TA: am ii?  
CA: you hacked trollian  
CA: fuck wwhat am I evven talkin about you wwouldnt even need to hack it you knoww its evvery in an out  
CA: you made me look like a   
CA: a fuckin  
CA: PAN-CRACKED CRAZYCASE  
CA: right to kar's face  
TA: ii dont know what youre talkiing about, but you would have done that your2elf eventually.  
TA: on account that you ARE a pan-cracked crazyca2e.  
CA: NO  
CA: you goddamn mutant freak I wwill END YOU  
TA: whoa, what2 thii2 about?  
TA: not that iim not fiindiing your freakout amu2iing out of context, but at lea2t tell me what youre accu2iing me of.  


You block him.

You decide this is a good time to see if Ahab's Crosshairs survived the fall undamaged.

You stride over to the angel. It doesn't react, only wheezing wetly as silver blood trickles down its beak. It doesn't turn to look at you as you level the rifle to its head and pull the trigger.

*

You make your way out of the crevice eventually. As you reach the end, mud walls are replaced with gravel and sediment, and eventually, it turns into irregular stone tiles. By the time you emerge at the end, the creek is only a narrow slick flowing over black pavement. 

Above your head is a glass dome, arching high, and around you is a garden of broken statuary. No, not broken—worn down. Each slab of stone has only the vague outline of a figure, the surface devoid of details and pocked with signs of erosion. You can't imagine what any of them might have represented, because some are so strangely posed, you doubt they ever really represented anything.

The dome above is a rusted metal framework holding together hexagonal panes of dirty blue glass. The light comes through dim and sickly. There are several clear streaks through the glass, however, and you can hear the distant  _glop, glop, glop_  of water, sounding like fat droplets falling into something deep and narrow.

You start weaving your way through the statue garden, but you must have picked the wrong direction, because you hit a dead end, where the statues are too closely clumped together to squeeze through. You backtrack and try a different way, but soon enough, that, too, becomes a dead end. 

You conclude that the statues must be clustered along the walls of this constructions, and there might be no path. You fall back on your traditional solution and take out your rifle, aiming in a purely random direction. You press the trigger, anticipating the moment when the statues before you explode to dust and...

...nothing.

You stare, stunned, down the length of your weapon and press the trigger again, to just as much effect. It doesn't work. It doesn't work,  _it doesn't work, IT DOESN'T WORK_ , oh, god—

It needs to recharge. That's all. You've been using it too much these past few days, you just need to lay off it for a bit. 

You chuckle at your momentary lapse in composure, and it echoes against the tall ceiling, making you sound nervous and a bit manic. You sit down at the foot of a statue, leaning against its pedestal and pulling your knees up. You don't put Ahab's Crosshairs away, though. You hold it close to your chest, and the gesture is reassuring even if the rifle itself is useless at the moment.

You sit in silence, listening to the distant trickle of water. Everything is so quiet and still, that when Trollian pops open, you nearly jump out of your skin.

CG: IF I ASK YOU NICELY ABOUT YOUR QUEST PROGRESSION, DO YOU PROMISE NOT TO KICK OFF ANOTHER SESSION OF “AMPORA ACTS LIKE A RAVING LUNATIC”?

You breathe out, releasing tension you hadn't even noticed.

CA: kar its so good to talk to you  
CA: an i promise ill behavve  
CA: no flippin out  
CG: OH, GOOD, SO I ONLY HAVE YOUR *REGULAR* AMOUNTS FLAILING AND SELF-IMPORTANT RANTING TO DEAL WITH.  
CA: it wwasnt my fault i wwent off on you the first time you knoww  
CA: someone wwas playin a sick fuckin joke on me  
CA: dont wworry though ill get him back for this  
CG: I'D SAY I'M RELIEVED BUT THAT WOULD IMPLY I AM IN ANY WAY VESTED IN YOUR PETTY DRAMA.  
CA: dammit kar this isnt just drama  
CA: this is serious stuff   
CA: an i apologized didnt i  
CA: evven though i shouldnt havve because it wwasnt my fault wwhat happened  
CG: IT NEVER IS, ERIDAN. THAT'S JUST IT. IT NEVER IS, AND IT NEVER COULD BE, AND IT NEVER WILL BE.  
CA: wwhat are you glubbin about  
CG: YOU THINK YOU'RE BEING PERSECUTED, IS THAT IT?  
CA: kar this is a real thing  
CA: sol did somethin to trick me he cooked up some fake logs  
CA: im sure of it he practically confessed  
CG: AND AGAIN, BLAMING OTHER PEOPLE FOR YOUR PROBLEMS.  
CG: ERIDAN, FOR ONCE, I WANT YOU TO ADMIT THAT THE REASON ALL YOUR RELATIONSHIPS SELF-DESTRUCT IS NOT BECAUSE THERE IS A VAST CONSPIRACY AGAINST YOU   
CG: BUT BECAUSE YOU DESTROY THEM YOURSELF.  
CA: thats stupid wwhy wwould i do that  
CG: BECAUSE IT'S IN YOUR NATURE TO DESTROY, ERIDAN. AND IF YOU FAIL TO LEARN TO HARNESS IT AND TURN IT OUTWARD, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY.   
CG: OR RATHER, UNLESS YOU SUCCEED, YOU WILL *CONTINUE TO BE* YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY.  
CG: YOU WILL LEARN HOW TO BE NOT ONLY LONELY, BUT COMPLETELY ALONE.  
CG: YOU WILL LEARN THE DESPAIR THAT COMES ONLY WHEN ALL THOSE WHO CAN FEEL EVEN THE FRAILEST THREAD OF HOPE  
CG: ARE DEAD BY YOUR HAND.  
CA: youre not kar  
CA: fuck  
CA: youre not kar he isnt half so creepy  
CA: if this is you sol this isnt funny  
CA: stop  
CA: just stop  
CG: IT ISN'T BEFITTING OF A PRINCE TO BE SO SQUEAMISH.

You take off your glasses and fling them against a nearby statue. They don't crack—between the heavy frames and the electronics in them, they're much sturdier than regular glasses—but one of the lenses falls out and rolls away.


	8. Veracity

In the end, you break a window with the butt of your rifle and crawl out, too spooked to make a proper, dignified exit. You run down a narrow alley and emerge in a garden, where the trees are made of black metal instead of wood, and have glass leaves.  
  
Something about the sharpness and brightness of this place makes you shy away, and you go the long way around it. You reach a small building with grates at the windows, and when the door won't open, you break it down. Immediately inside is only a long bench, and you huddle up on it, pulling your cape close around your shoulders.  
  
Your heart is beating fast, much faster than physical exertions can account for.  
  
You bring up Trollian, almost afraid that the program is going to swallow you up.  
  
 **caligulasAquarium**  [CA]  **began trolling carcinoGeneticist**  [CG]  
  
CA: i dont knoww if wwhat i say evven matters or if anyone is evven listenin anymore  
CA: you could all be dead for all i knoww an ivve been sendin wwords into the empty void like sad little messages in a bottle lost on the ocean  
CA: an just as pointless my messages wwouldnt matter evven if they wwere read because nobody wwould come anywway  
CA: evverythin i got back might as far as i knoww been mockery from cruel gods wwho laugh at my fate  
CA: but i still wwanna try  
CA: i cant stop tryin  
CA: an i guess an imperfect imitation a my friends is still better than nothin  
CA: because its near enough to wwhat i got from the real ones  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK, ERIDAN. DID YOU GET INTO THE SOPOR TOO?  
CG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE NOT HIGH RIGHT NOW, BECAUSE I ALREADY HAVE ONE FECKLESS STONER TO CONTEND WITH AND I AM NOT READY TO JUGGLE TWO QUASI-USELESS FUCKTARDS AT THE SAME TIME.  
CA: oh you swwear a lot more than the other guy  
CG: I SWEAR A LOT MORE THAN A LOT OF FUCKING PEOPLE. IT'S KIND OF MY *THING*, IN CASE YOU'RE JUST NOW NOTICING.  
CG: I TAKE IT YOU CAME TO THE BOTTOM OF THE MYSTERY OF THE KARKAT IMPERSONATOR?  
CA: yeah  
CA: i mean no  
CA: i dont really knoww but i dont think it matters  
CA: i think wwhoevver did it wwas testin me  
CG: OH. YEAH, SOME OF THE QUESTS CAN REALLY FUCK WITH YOUR PAN.  
CG: I SHOULD HAVE GUESSED. TEREZI HAD THIS ONE WHERE  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT, NEVERMIND, WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT THAT ONE.  
CG: TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING.  
CA: i dont knoww anymore kar  
CA: i keep goin back an forth an i keep hopin itll get easier  
CA: but it doesnt  
CA: nothin does  
CA: i hate it here  
CA: theyre all starin at me  
CA: i used to think it wwas bad wwhen they were starin quietly but its bad wwhen they talk too except wwhen they start talkin i start wwishin they wwent back to starin all quiet like  
CG: WHO ARE YOU EVEN BLABBERING ABOUT?  
CA: the angels kar  
CA: the angels are evverywwhere  
CG: FUCK. LOOK, I'M SORRY THAT YOUR CONSORTS ARE FREAKY WINGED DEMONS, BUT THERE'S NOTHING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT. YOU THINK I ENJOY THE EVERPRESENT CLOUDS OF DISGUSTING CANDY RED FLOATING ALL OVER MY OWN ASS END OF THE INCIPISPHERE?  
CA: i dunno i think id preffer candy colored clouds to flights a scary birdmonsters  
CG: NO, FUCK THAT. YOU WOULDN'T. IT SUCKS. IT FUCKING TURNS MY PROTEIN SAC HAVING TO WADE THROUGH THIS SHITTY TECHNICOLOR NIGHTMARE. JUST... LOOK, YOU CAN LEAVE LOWAA EVENTUALLY.  
CA: i can  
CG: YES, AS SOON AS YOU FINISH YOUR QUESTS THERE, YOU CAN JUMP OVER TO SOME OTHER ASSHOLE'S PLAYGROUND.  
CA: kar  
CA: kar i cant wwait that long  
CA: i cant stand bein here  
CG: WELL, THAT SUCKS FOR YOU THEN, BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE. NONE OF US DO.  
CA: it really does suck  
CG: YOU JUST HAVE TO OVERCOME IT. EVERYTHING THE GAME THROWS AT YOU IS WITH THE PURPOSE OF MAKING YOU STRONGER.  
CA: i wwish it wwould stop im plenty strong already  
CG: WELL, YOUR OPINION DOESN'T MATTER IN THIS PLACE.  
CG: JUST  
CG: OKAY, I HAVE TO GO RIGHT NOW, BUT YOU KEEP AT IT.  
CG: KICK THE GAME'S ASS.  
CG: WE'LL TALK LATER.  
  
 **carcinogeneticist**  [CG]  **ceased trolling caligulasAquarium**  [CA]  
  
You curl up on your side, staring at the log for a very long time.

*

You eventually venture out again, even if you feel weirdly exposed for some reason. You keep an eye on Trollian and a tight grip on Ahab's Crosshairs, and you really want someone to come over and keep you company, even if they won't help you on your quests.  
  
Out of all your friends who are online, you don't even consider Vriska and the lowblood cripple she deigns to spend time with instead of you. You look at Feferi's handle for a very long while, and you also possibly give a forlorn sigh or four, even if you'd never admit it. She probably already has her hands full with the psionic freak. Neither Nepeta nor Equius are online, and Karkat has just signed off. Aradia told you not to contact her again, but she probably didn't  _really_  mean it, and if you had to, you could perhaps persuade her to come over. Terezi is... online, but you're pretty sure she's already helping Karkat and you don't really want to get between their budding matespritship. And the clown—huh.  
  
Okay, yeah, you'll try Gamzee. He's completely harmless, and between his offensive lack of fashion sense and his distractingly bizarre ramblings, he might at least take your mind off... things. You just hope he won't push any more of his teeth-rotting soda on you.  
  
You are about to troll him when you hit your shin on something and let out an embarrassingly loud yelp that echoes up and down the street. Angels perched on the buildings around you look in your direction, then bring their heads together and make a susurrating noise that, despite sounding nothing like it, brings to mind laughter. You grit your teeth and hunch your shoulder and make a valiant effort to ignore it.  
  
Instead, you look at the source of your currently throbbing shin injury. It is the first step of a metal staircase, leading up to the roof of an elegant white building with impressive spires. The staircase starts in the middle of the street and has to cram the steps close and tall to fit them all to the end.  
  
It's madness, pure and simple. There is no conceivable reason for this staircase to be here. It probably leads to a quest, a really important one that demands special attention from players by viciously attacking their shins. Trolling the sopor-addled idiot will have to wait for now.  
  
You climb the stairs, and they shake with your every step, making frightful rusty screeches as they swing from side to side. You make it up without incident, though the moment you put both feet on the horizontal roof, the staircase collapses into a metallic heap on the ground. You  _think_  it's just part of the quest, and not a sign that it was poorly designed to begin with, but you'd honestly prefer not to think about it too much.  
  
There are angels on the edges of the roof, but they seem to be ignoring you for now. You give them a wide berth anyway.   
  
The roof goes on forever. You see something in the distance, and even if you can't clearly see what it is, you head for it. As it comes into view, you become more confused.  
  
It's a ring of trees. But they don't have leaves. But they're green?You arrive at a small artificial grove. The things you thought were trees are only tree-shaped. They're stone statues of bare trees, covered with a bluish-green-but-not-really-teal moss. There are six, surrounding a black patch you originally thought was asphalt but is actually a pond filled with an opaque black substance you suspect is tar. There is a white plaque on the ground with writing, and you're expecting another infuriating riddle as you lean down to read.  
  
 **you will probably find nothing at the bottom**  
  
You blink and read again. If it's a riddle, it doesn't look like one. It seems fairly straightforward, in fact.  
  
Except nothing here is straightforward. Everything on your planet is infuriating and strange and completely different from how it's supposed to be. You're not sure you have the luxury of taking anything here at face value. At the same time, you can't expect this place not to mess with your head at every opportunity, and you're pretty sure that's what's happening right here.   
  
You scrape a bit of moss from one of the stone trees and throw it in the pond. It falls with a glop and the black substance swallows it right up. You don't like how quickly it disappears beneath the surface.  
  
You recall what you told Karkat about being tested. At the time, you meant that someone was merely trying to annoy you, but maybe Karkat was right; maybe the  _Game_  is testing you. This has to be another test. Probably to see if you are stupid enough to risk life and limb trying to find something imaginary at the bottom of a deathpond.  
  
You turn around and make your way back to the edge of the roof. When you reach it, the angels look at you with scornful eyes.  
  
You hear a beep as someone begins trolling you, but you delay opening the chat window for a few moments and stare at the angels.   
  
But no, it's just the Game... isn't it?


	9. Certainty

TA: 2o youre a coward two.  
CA: fuck off im busy  
TA: how bu2y can you be, when youre not even doiing a que2t riight now?  
  
You reflexively look over your shoulder.  
  
CA: wwhat about you sol  
CA: fef kicked ya to the curb already  
CA: seen right through you has she  
  
You bring up Trollian and scan your list of contacts for Feferi's handle, but you stop short when you notice the discrepancy. Your eyebrow rise slowly, while your stomach drops. You're not sure if you're scared or confused or angry, but the bundle of emotions surge up and down your spine uncomfortably.  
  
You bring up the chat window again, and see that a few new lines have appeared.  
  
TA: liike 2he 2aw through you, you mean?  
TA: 2orry, but 2ome people arent ragiing douchebag2, ed.  
TA: and by 2ome people, ii mean everybody except you.  
TA: you are the only douchebag.  
  
You type the reply slowly and deliberately.  
  
CA: youre not sol  
CA: sol isnt online  
  
There is a long pause, and you watch the screen intently, your gaze flicking back and forth between the chat window and the list of contacts.  
  
TA: well fuck, you caught me.  
TA: ii gue22 thii2 ii2 the one tiime you manage two succeed at 2omethiing.  
TA: congrat2 on the 2ole and petty viictory iin your pathetiic life.  
TA: how doe2 iit feel two reach the hiigh poiint of your exii2tance?  
CA: wwho the fuck are you  
CA: are you the guy wwho wwas pretendin to be kar  
TA: fuck that guy. no.  
CA: then wwho is this  
CA: wwhich one a you assholes thinks this is funny  
CA: probably vvris  
CA: bet shes invvolvved in this somehoww  
TA: wiill you 2hut up?  
TA: youre completely mii2iing the poiint.  
CA: wwhat point  
TA: that youre a contemptiible piiece of 2hiit who 2uck2 at thii2 game.  
CA: youll forgivve me if i dont take the wword a some liar wwho keeps insultin me   
CA: and imitatin my friends  
CA: badly i might add  
TA: youll forgiive me iif ii dont giive a fuck.  
TA: ii fooled you anyway, diidnt ii?  
CA: wwhy  
CA: wwhy wwould you evven do this  
TA: maybe cau2e youre 2uch a monumental lo2er ii cant stand two 2uffer another miinute wiithout iinformiing you of the fact.  
TA: look at you, you faiil at thi2 game so hard.  
CA: lets see howw hard i fail wwhen i hunt you dowwn an reduce you to bloody ribbons  
TA: you have two fiind me fiir2t, fii2h2tick2.  
CA: oh dont wworry i wwill  
CA: you havve no glubbin clue what im capable of  
TA: you? you cant even take down the actual lii2piing nerd iim pretendiing two be.  
TA: dont delude your2elf.  
CA: im not  
CA: you think you knoww me  
CA: you dont evven suspect the fathoms youvve just plumbed  
CA: you think i destroy evverythin i touch  
CA: you dont evven comprehend wwhat destruction is yet  
CA: i wwill givve you a right schoolfeedin on the subject  
CA: i wwill showw you the righteous rage of your unequivocal superior an grind your unwworthy bones dowwn until all thats left is dust an anguish  
CA: YOU WWILL DIE SCREAMIN YOU DISGUSTIN SACK A SCUM DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT  
TA: yeah, iid liike two see you try.  
TA: why dont you come riight now, iin fact.  
TA: take a nap and fly over.  
TA: tell me all about your 2cary bone griindiing fanta2iie2  
TA: face two face.  
  
The chat window blinks out, disappearing before your eyes. You're relieved, and it takes you a few moments to realize that it's because he proved to not be the real Sol at all.

*

There are no other stairs or ladders that you can find. This is probably to ensure that you finish whatever quest you have to finish here before you move on. You don't like being prodded in any direction, least of all a direction that might kill you, so you decide to do things the hard way.

  
You find a side of the building with the most prominent facade and get ready to climb down. It can't be that hard: there are plenty of handholds and the fall probably wouldn't kill you anyway, even if it would be painful as all hell: the building only has four storeys. You don't worry much about that, however, because there's a balcony halfway down, and if it leads inside, then you can find a proper set of stairs and descend in a proper and dignified fashion.  
  
You put away Ahab's Crosshairs and maneuver yourself over the edge, cautiously gripping the tacky stone decorations as firmly as you can. Not even a minute in, your hands are starting to hurt and your arms are tired; you were not made for this kind of physical exertion.  
  
You're startled halfway down by a chat window popping open.  
  
You scramble as you accidentally lose your foothold. You recover quickly, but you stand still for a long moment, looking at the chat window.  
  
CG: YOU SHOULDN'T LET HIM GOAD YOU.  
  
Fuck. It's fake Karkat again. He's probably talking about fake Sollux. You have absolutely no reason to talk to him. You have no reason to talk to any of them, and you're not going to give them another fraction of a second of your time, even if that means never talking to anyone at all for the rest of the game.  
  
You put this thought away for now as you reach the balcony and jump down the last two feet.  
  
As you suspected, there is a door, though it's little more than a metallic grate. You try the handle, but it's locked. You give it a good jiggle anyway, but other than the loud rattling sound it produces, there is no other effect.  
  
“Great,” you mutter.   
  
Beyond the grate door there is darkness, and from the outside you can only see a patch of floor where the daylight can barely ward the darkness. Once inside, you have no doubt your night vision will be adequate, but you have to get inside first.  
  
There is only one obvious solution to this conundrum and you take out your rifle, preparing to blast your way in. You barely have it out for a moment when you hear the first flutter of wings.  An angel lands on the far corner of the balcony. You freeze in place and only look at it from the corner of your eye, but it isn't doing anything. When you turn your head, it dips its own head level with yours. It sits perfectly still and waits. You're not sure what it wants from you.

  
“Don't suppose you got a key,” you mutter, not expecting an answer.  
  
The angel gets a concentrated look on its face.  
  
 **no key no key there is no key the door is not to open**  
  
“So I gotta destroy the door,” you say slowly.  
  
The feathers on the back of the angel's neck ruffle.  
  
 **destroy destroy destroy the king comes soon the time for despair is close the door swings open before him**  
  
You raise your rifle slowly and aim it at the door.  
  
The angel screeches and lunges at you and you only have time to pivot on your heel to face it. You shove the diamond point of the rifle against the angel's midsection as it reaches out to claw at your face and you shoot. It screeches again, this time not in threat but in pain, and its back arches under the beam.  
  
The balcony is caught in the crossfire, and again you somehow manage to shoot the ground from underneath your feet. The fall is much shorter this time, but the ground is harder. You and the angel fall in a tangle. Your back hits the ground first, knocking all the air out of your lungs. A piece of stone breaks your fall and probably one of your ribs for good measure.  
  
The angel falls only an arm's length away. Its midsection is swathed in charred feathers. You have the presence of mind to aim again and shoot, only a short burst before you scramble to your feet. Then, before the angel can open its wings and fly away, you shoot it properly, the white beam engulfing the creature and searing it through. It takes a long time, but you're already practiced at this. You know when it's time to stop.  
  
The air smells sweet and it is utterly quiet.  
  
Angels peer down at you in judgment. Their usually blank faces are twisted up in an expression akin to disgust.   
  
Another chat window pops up.  
  
TA: you ju2t cant 2top fuckiing up, can you?


	10. Inured

They watch you and hiss unhappily among themselves. One flies down to the remnants of its brethren (a mound of black tar, disgusting and sweet-smelling), and that's the point when you turn around and limp away as fast as you can.  
  
You lose track of where you're going, but when you turn a corner and see your hive at the end of the street, you are both surprised and relieved. You actually break out in a jog as you approach, and you burst through the door of your respiteblock so violently you nearly knock it off its hinges.  
  
You don't crawl into your recuperacoon and curl up in the comforting embrace of slime, but it's a close thing. You go to the bathroom instead, and lean heavily on the sink. You take off your glasses carefully and put them aside.  
  
Looking in the mirror, your face is a blur, but you can still see your hair matted with cement dust and a thin line of blood streaking down the side of your face from a cut on your temple. You are a mess in every sense of the word. You briefly consider slumping to the ground and hiding under the sink, but you turn the faucet on, and after that, it's easy to concentrate on making yourself look presentable. You wash up, and change your clothes, and even give your glasses a good polish. By the time you replace your cape, you feel like yourself again. A tired, battered version of yourself who doesn't understand anything of what's going on anymore, but at least you didn't hide in your recuperacoon like a scared wriggler. You're willing to accept any victory you can at this point.  
  
You pause by the door before going out again, however, your hand frozen on the door handle. You squeeze it tightly, and then unclench your fingers slowly.  
  
This part's easy. You've done it a million times, you don't even need to think about it: press down and push the door out. It's all motor memory, you don't even need to think about it, your hand knows what to do.  
  
Why are you standing like a dumbass in the middle of the hallway, then? Why don't you just  
  
open  
  
the   
  
door.  
  
It's easy. The tips of your fingers are trembling a little, but you can still do it. You  _could_  still do it. Why...  
  
AG: Oh my god, you are so 8ooooooooring.  
AG: Get out there and kill something already!  
  
After the initial moment of confusion, you step back from the door and turn around.

** CA: i dont suppose its too much to hope for that this is really vvris talkin to me  
AG: Hehehehe, I see what you did there!  
CA: wwhat  
CA: wwhat did i do  
AG: Hm, never mind. Looks like you're just as dull as I thought you were.  
CA: you still didnt answwer me are you really her  
AG: I don't know, what do you think?  
CA: i think the real vvris wwould be vvery confused right noww and not tryin to act cute  
AG: Do you know what your pro8lem is?  
CA: yeah youre definitely one a those guys  
CA: i can tell by the wway you cant wwait to start insultin me  
CA: a course the real vvris wwoulda probably done the same but at least wwhen she does it i get somethin outta it  
AG: Ew, I did not want to know a8out you mastur8ating to your chatlogs with the spidergirl!  
CA: WWHAT  
CA: NO  
CA: that isnt wwhat i said at all  
CA: wwhat the fuck is wwrong wwith you  
CA: maybe i should start tellin you your problems instead  
AG: You don't even know who I am, though.  
AG: You don't know anything about me.  
CA: i already knoww you havve a filthy mind an probably a lotta hangups a the sexual vvariety  
AG: That's not  
AG: Okay, 8ut may8e only  
AG: You know what, let's get 8ack to the su8ject at hand.  
CA: wwhats that  
AG: The fact that you are a loser.  
CA: yeah thats original  
CA: youre the very first to tell me that  
CA: clearly youre the smartest impersonator  
CA: it is you  
AG: Are you trying to be snide, or str8t-up 8itchy? It's honestly hard to tell with you.  
CA: look fake vvris  
CA: ivve had it up to here with you douchebags linin up to punch me in the feelins like candys gonna fall out if you do it long enough  
CA: i think ivve growwn inured to it  
AG: Well damn, why am I even talking to you then?  
CA: no fuckin clue  
CA: but if you wwont kindly glub off at least do somethin completely radical here and cut me some slack  
AG: Yeah, okay.  
CA: so its just that easy  
AG: You know what, just this once, it is. It's not 8ecause I'm feeling generous or anything.  
CA: then wwhy  
AG: I guess I just can't stand what a gargantuan tool you are and want to see you improve!  
AG: I'll give you the answers to three questions, from someone who has played and won this game. Hint: it's me. I am the winner.  
CA: that doesnt sound vvery generous  
AG: What!? It's three questions! Any three questions you'd like! This is potentially game-changing stuff! How is that not generous?  
CA: cause wwhatevver i ask youll probably reply wwith some vvague but deep soundin bullshit thats not gonna help me one wwhit  
AG: ...  
AG: Not gonna lie, that's exactly what I was planning to do.  
AG: And even if I wasn't, my answers would pro8a8ly have seemed vague and esoteric anyway due to the nature of paradox time and the game itself.  
CA: there you go  
AG: 8ut since you were smart enough to figure it out, as a reward, I will instead give you three pieces of advice!  
CA: wwhy not eight  
AG: Why 8?  
CA: wwell since youre stealin vvriss schtick anyway  
AG: Uuuuuuuugh, you are insufferable. No! I don't share spidergirl's weird compulsion, so three's all you're getting!  
CA: fine lets hear it i guess  
AG: You're a real jerk. Just for that, I'm only giving you one piece of advice.  
CA: like i didnt already knoww you wwere stingy  
AG: Wow, I did not know it was possi8le to want to help you less, 8ut it is. You've made that happen. I hope you feel proud of yourself. Any hope I had for you is gone. You will always 8e a loser. You're incorrigi8le.  
CA: kneww this wwas comin soon  
AG: It's what you do, Eridan. You can't help it, and you don't even try to control it. You are a loose cannon of the worst variety, 8ecause you don't even know the damage you can cause!  
CA: so wwhat  
AG: Excuse me????????  
CA: i said so wwhat  
CA: isnt that wwhat the game wwants  
CA: to wwreck as much shit as possible  
CA: kill all the mooks  
CA: gain all the levels etc etc  
CA: im only doin wwhats expected  
AG: Except you're not really, are you? You're just doing what you want. You don't aspire to anything, you don't work to 8etter yourself, you just whine and expect things to 8e given to you on a silver platter.  
CA: i see plenty a cheap psychology and not much advvice  
AG: Who you are and what you must do are indistinguisha8le in this game. You are the Prince, and you must 8ecome the Prince all the same. Even if this can only 8e achieved through self-denial. It is part of your personal quest.  
CA: wwhy  
AG: 8ecause, you moron, if you don't,  
AG: if you fail to live up to the path 8efore you,  
AG: it will swallow you up.  
AG: You will 8ecome an instrument of mindless destruction, in service of despair.  
AG: Any8ody can 8e capable of destruction, 8ut real power comes when you know when and where to use it, and when it's the inappropri8te course of action. You are capa8le of achieving great power, 8ut only if you apply yourself.  
CA: ivve alwways knowwn i wwas meant for greatness  
AG: Th8t 8s n8t the p8int, Erid8n!!!!!!!!  
AG: Dest8ny doesn't m8ke housec8lls, you need to go out and m8ke it h8ppen yourself! If you sit around and w8  
CA: wwhat  
CA: wwhat happens  
CA: hey are you still there  
CA: just leavvin me hangin here  
CA: alright AG: You know what, never mind.  
CA: wwhat do you mean never mind  
AG: I mean, ignore everything I just told you.  
AG: It's what you were going to do anyway.  
CA: wwell yeah but its still fuckin rude of you to just cut off in the middle a the  
  
The chat window disappears before your eyes. Rude! **


	11. Ascension

It's not until you can feel the creeping pain in the back of your neck that you realize how tense you are, how hunched you are holding your shoulders and how low you are stooped. You make a conscious effort to relax your posture and adopt an adequately aristocratic swagger, but you can't pretend for long that they aren't getting to you.  
  
The angels watch you closely. They hiss to each other—or maybe it is just how they speak—too low for you to make out anything. You think they might be speaking of you, but the few words you manage to catch are just snippets of their garbled prophecies.   
  
Still, there is something distinctly accusatory in the way their gazes follow you with such persistence. You duck into alleys and passageways and under bridges and archways whenever you can, but whenever you need to step under the open sky again, they are there, watching and whispering. You never liked them to begin with, but now there is something overtly aggressive in their demeanor, even if they aren't directly attacking you.  
  
You are pretty sure they won't attack you. Somewhat sure. Vriska—the real one—said they were here to help, as hard as that was to believe. You're sure she must have been lying, though. A subtle way to sabotage you. A downright caliginous maneuver, if you think about it. Assuming the one who told you was the real one...?  
  
Yes, you find the log right away. Not every conversation you've had so far is a fiction, to your relief.  
  
Then, it is entirely possible that the angels aren't on your side at all. Indeed, all evidence points to the fact that their sole mission is to torment you.   
  
You tap a finger against your rifle. Tap, tap, tap.  
  
They haven't helped you yet. Likely they never will. They hindered you. If pattern holds, they will hinder you further.  
  
Your finger creeps over the trigger and you very slowly  _squeeze_ .  
  
The beam comes out a fraction of a second sooner than you expected it and startles you. You hold the rifle steady though, and aim it at the corner of a building, where an angel sits atop a gargoyle. The brilliant white light consumes it. Even from such a distance, there is no escape. It takes maybe two minutes to kill it entirely, and when you are finished, when it has been reduced to nothing but a disgusting black stain on the already dark street—only then do you hear the racket around you.  
  
There is shrieking and screeching and the flapping of wings. Half the angels have taken flight, leaving behind a delicate rain of feathers, and the other half sit pinned into place, throwing their heads back and howling like the restless undead during the day on Alternia.  
  
You take aim again, and pull the trigger. Another angel falls.  
  
Then another.  
  
By the time you kill the fourth, the street is deserted, and you do not have any more of the demons to turn your rifle on. You are panting and sweating, but your heart beats loudly enough that you can hear it, and you can't help the giggle that escapes your throat. It is gloriously terrible, every part of it. This is fun—so much fun. You love this game.  
  
CG: YOU NEED TO STOP.  
CG: STOP NOW.  
CA: bit late for advvice dont you think  
CG: NO, YOU'RE MAKING A MISTAKE. STOP.  
CA: im doin exactly wwhat im supposed to  
CA: see i finally get it  
CA: i get wwhere i failed before  
CA: i get wwhy im a loser  
CA: or wwas CG: NO YOU DON'T. YOU REALLY DON'T. THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF “GETTING IT”. WHAT YOU'RE DOING NOW AND “GETTING IT” ARE AS MATTER AND ANTI-MATTER TO EACH OTHER.  
CA: sorry too late  
CA: you dont get me to tell me shit anymore mr fakey liarface  
CA: dont think i dont knoww youre not the real kar  
CA: not after our last fuckin chat  
CG: GODDAMMIT I AM TRYING TO HELP.  
CG: I'M TRYING TO FIX EVERYTHING.  
CG: I HAVEN'T EVEN TALKED TO YOU BEFORE, THIS IS THE FIRST TIME, AND YOU JUST NEED TO LISTEN TO ME THIS ONCE. I WON'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR EXISTENCE ANYMORE IF YOU STOP THIS CHILDISH RAMPAGE.  
CG: I MADE SURE THEY WON'T CONTACT YOU AGAIN.  
CG: THE ONE PRETENDING TO TYPE IN YELLOW. AND THE ONE WITH THE EIGHTS. I MADE SURE.  
CA: dont you get it  
CA: it doesnt matter anymore  
CA: im not the person i was before  
CA: wwhat the prince does is indistinguishable from wwhat the prince is  
CA: thats wwhat fake vvris said  
CA: wwell im the prince  
CA: an im on my owwn  
CA: i knoww wwhat i gotta do noww  
  
There is a long pause. You think he might have given up, but two last lines appear.  
  
CG: TURN AROUND. TAKE THE SECOND STREET ON THE LEFT.  
CG: SHOOT THE DOOR.  
  
And just like that, the chat window disappears again.  
  
You snort. You'd think after your badass speech he'd get it through his head that you are not going to be doing what anyone says anymore, but some people are just thick, apparently.  
  
And what kind of nonsense instructions were those, anyway? Turn around and take the second street on the... left was it? What door?  
  
It is only out of curiosity that you go. You can satisfy your own curiosity if you want to. You stop in your tracks, because you recognize the place right away. How could you not, when it has only been half a day? The remnants of the balcony are scattered all around you, and the foul remains of the angels are still there. You look up to the grate door.  
  
Shoot it. Yeah, that's easy. Why are you here if not to shoot shit?  
  
You step back a ways to get a clearer shot, but when you finally shoot, you realize you should have put more distance between you and the building.  
  
You let loose only a short burst, barely a flicker, but once it blasts through the door—melting the grate—there is the sound of implosion, like in inside-out boom, and your ears feel plugged, like they do sometimes when you surface too quickly.  
  
The building... melts. It darkles in steady ripples, outward from the door, and turns into something like tar. The smell is foul, like a rotting corpse after being left out in the sunlight, and strong enough to make you wretch, and heat emanates from the ground around it. You hop back a few steps, then turn around and break into a run.  
  
You skid to a halt a full ten streets later, barely able to catch your breath. You kneel next to a wall and lean your shoulder against it, trying to steady the erratic beating of your heart and soothe the pain in your lungs.  
  
The conclusion that was handed to you through this demonstration is clear enough to grasp. That does not mean you accept it.  
  
Oh, undoubtedly, you would have been dead had you made that shot while still on the balcony. The angel's intervention had certainly saved you.  
  
But it still doesn't matter. If anything, it has the opposite effect than what the Karkat impersonator hoped it would. This whole exercise did nothing more than stir the cold, slow rage that is the birthright of your noble blood. If you were meant to repent and change your course, you will do the opposite just to be contrary. You have not been proven wrong: the impostor has simply proven himself against you.  
  
There are angels lining the roofs of buildings around you. It is clear to you now what you must do.  
  
Grimly, you set yourself to the task of purging the land of demons. You will truly turn this place into a land of wrath—your own.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Land of Wrath and Angels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352299) by [CelticPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticPhoenix/pseuds/CelticPhoenix)




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